


Snapshots of Light and Darkness (ffxivWrite2020 fills)

by Yeziel_Moore



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dadcred makes an appearance, Dark Knight Questline (Final Fantasy XIV) Spoilers, Dark Knight Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dragoon Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), No Beta We Die Like Ascians, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, Vague Shadowbringers 5.0 Spoilers, Vault Trauma, up to level 70, will add tags as they appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 18,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26451793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeziel_Moore/pseuds/Yeziel_Moore
Summary: In answer to the FFxivWrite2020 September writing challenge by @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast. Snapshots is exactly that, moments from the life of my WOL, X'lial Ris, from her perspective and sometimes others.Non-chronological.I didn't manage to finish the month, but here's the collection of all my fills.
Kudos: 2





	1. Crux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. the central or most important point; essence.
> 
> In which X'lial definitely doesn't care for these adventurers, not at all, nope.

The thing is... 

Everything is died orange. Even as she watches the aether of what had been a _god_ dissipate, the flames continue to burn, their heat stinging against the burned skin of her arms. X'lial clenches her fists and watches with detached fascination as the new scabs on her knuckles break and flesh blood gathers on the surface. She feels lightheaded. 

The thing is...

She looks at the adventurers that had fought with her. The Lalafellin conjurer who is stoically tending to the Keeper marauder. Her hands are shaking and even X'lial, who doesn't know the first thing about magic, can tell that it's hindering the healing. The marauder doesn't look bothered in the least though. He just sits there, grinning widely, a feral showing of fangs that'd have been terrifying if she hadn't run out of fucks to give sometime after the second set of plumes had appeared.

"Well, that was bloody awful. Let's never do it again," complains the Viera archer, her once lustrous and long hair now almost a foot shorter. She looks like she’s contemplating the merits of summoning Ifrit again in order to rain down unholy vengeance on it. 

The Keeper laughs and even the Lalafell quirks a nervous smile.

She doesn't know their names.

The thing is... 

There's a bond forming here, is the thing. Forged in the literal fires of hell, as they fought and kept each other standing on the razor sharp edge of life. One wrong step and... well, it didn't happen. But the crux of the matter is that X'lial isn't looking for friends. Friendships take time and dedication, nurturing and care, and X'lial doesn't have any of that left to spare. She has a mission and friends simply don't fit in the picture. 

"May I?" Asks the healer shyly, signaling at her bloody knuckles and shiny burns. 

There's a choice to be made here. 

She extends her hands. "…Thanks." 

Comrades, she figures, may at least be useful down the line.


	2. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v. to influence (the mind, emotions, etc., or a person).
> 
> In which little X'lial changes her mind and, many years later, somebody else does the same.

_ "No." _

_ "Come ooon! You already ate, like, a bunch! Gimme some!" _

_ "Nope! If you wanted some then you shoulda gone with me!" She states mercilessly and pops another berry in her mouth, eyes locked into his, practically daring him to keep protesting and trying to steal her bounty. So of course he did. _

_ "But... the scholar guy said he was leavin' early! When do ya think another will pass through?! I couldn't miss the chance!" He protests and she knows that his dismay is genuine. Not many scholarly types passed through their tribe, even less stayed the night. Her poor bookworm brother brain was probably tying itself in knots out of sheer boredom. "Pleeeaaasseeee, Lia, the most generous big sis in the whole tribe, the whole world! Please, please, please!" He begged shamelessly, eyes wide and shiny.  _

_ X'lial looked at her twin with exasperation, but her will was crumbling. She knew what exactly he was doing. And so did he, the brat. _

_ She huffed and produced the portion she had set aside for him. "Next time you'll come with or i'll eat them all." _

_ "Das what you faid laft time too," he said through a mouthful, smile already tinted purple.  _

_ She growled and leaped at him. Sadly, X'liam was just as agile as any Miqo'te and deftly avoided her claws, cackling all the while.  _

_ "Come back here, you brat!" _

_ "Never!" _

* * *

"X'LIAL!"

Somebody shouts by her ear; far, far too close for comfort. She gives a full body flinch, caught utterly by surprise, and drops the paper bag she had been holding and staring at for... a while. Bright purple berries spill and scatter all over the table and floor. She blinks and looks up. 

Thancred had observed with growing worry as X'lial stared blankly at something held in her hands, mind malms and malms away. He is alarmed when his approach goes unnoticed and it grows exponentially when he calls her name several times to no avail. Not until he shouted. 

"Thancred." She states, still looking a little lost around the edges. It doesn't last long. She blinks again and he can almost see how all the vulnerable parts of the warrior of light are rolled up and neatly tucked away. She blinks, and the person standing in front of him is once again the fearless and violent prone warrior of light that had saved his life not too long ago. 

There's a question on the tip of his tongue. There's a dare in her eyes. He swallows and lets himself be swayed from his course. 

"Minfilia is waiting for us." Is what he says. 

X'lial nods curtly and stalks away without another word or look around. He doesn’t think he imagined the flash of gratitude in her eyes. He doesn't dwell on it.


	3. Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v. To bring into existence or readiness; summon up.
> 
> In which X'lial has free time, Haurchefant is a troll, and they have fun.

Today is a slow day. No missions, no urgent tasks and no urge to fill the empty spaces with an interminable list of errands as she's wont to do. So here she is, keeping Haurcherfant company as he works and fiddling with some wire, twisting it into different forms. She can hear music coming from outside. 

"Would you dance with me?" 

The playful question is like a bucket of snow overturned on her head. Her ears flatten against her skull and her tail stops its rhythmic thumping. 

"I... no... I-I. Not-" She cuts herself off, oddly flustered, mind whirling with words she can never properly express. She tries anyway. "I... ah... never. Learned. I... had. Other. Things. Then..." she shrugs lopsidedly, gaze fixed on the collection of loops and twists that transformed a length of wire into a fairly accurate dragon. That... was probably a bad choice of inspiration. "Didn't. Matter. After."

Because she isn't looking she doesn’t see the softness in his gaze, the not-so-secret tenderness in the curl of his mouth.  _ So self-conscious _ , he thinks,  _ the strength to fell gods and monsters and yet... _

"My dear, not knowing simply means there's an opportunity to learn," he says, expression open and honest as always, "don't you agree?" 

She ponders over his words and sees the logic in them, much as she wishes otherwise. She nods. 

"Useful," she adds, because she isn't stupid and she had seen bits and pieces of the picture that Alphinaud had been painting, before. The new picture is not the same, except in all the ways it is, starting with her place in it, front and center.  _ Politics _ , she thinks with disgust and vague relief that at least  _ that part  _ is not her problem to solve. She'd rather tackle a dozen Primals than trying to talk sense to a politician. 

Her face must be reflecting her inner voice because Haurchefant takes one look and burst into laughter. 

X'lial crosses her arms and glares up at her stupidly tall and unfairly handsome friend, who is valiantly trying (and failing) to catch his breath. She can feel her face burn and wishes wistfully for her drachenmail armor with its amazing helmet that'd certainly cover this damnable blush. But no. She had decided that today was going to be a casual day so no armor to hide behind. 

"Not. Funny."

She's not pouting, definitely not. 

"Ah, my dear, it is a little bit funny, you have to admit. The fearsome Warrior of Light, daunted by a little dancing," he teases and any sting caused by those words is immediately soothed by the genuine fondness in his gaze. He extends his right arm towards her, half invitation half dare, hundred percent sure she won't be able to resist the bait. She rolls her eyes, musters her courage and stomps over the insecure voice in her head that only shuts up in the middle of battle. 

She takes his hand.

Haurcherfant beams at her like she accomplished some unheard of feat. She scowls, because he's definitely having too much fun with this, but can't help the smile that tugs at her lips.

Still, she can't let him get away with such cheekiness. 

"Toes,” she makes a stomping gesture and flashes her teeth. “Will… eh… regrets." 

"I will wear my battle scars with pride then," he states with utmost seriousness and this time she does smack him.

She ignores his theatrical yelp. He deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My WOL halting speech has a reason and it's called "I experienced the Seventh Umbral Calamity and all i got was this Traumatic Brain Injury and a Speech Disorder".  
> She has a mild form of Aphasia (Transcortical Motor Aphasia specifically), i tried to inform myself but as i have no personal experience with it and as i am trying to form a narrative, i realize it's probably far from a true representation. I mean no disrespect nor harm. If anyone has any tips on how to write it better, i'm all ears.


	4. Clinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v. to settle (a matter) decisively.
> 
> In which X'lial knows your tricks and she's having none of your bullshit this time G'raha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Vague 5.0 spoilers.

“Warrior,  _ please! _ ” G’raha Tia, the Crystal Exarch, a king in his own right even if he never thought to claim the title for himself, finally finds himself begging.

X’lial gives him a  _ look _ and a smile that’s all teeth and shadows, beautiful and untamed. She’s a hurricane and it’s all he can do to not give ground and do as she wants. Not that he wouldn’t give up his remaining arm if it pleased her, but…

“My friend, please, there’s much to be done-” 

“Nope!” She thrills and leans against his staff. He looks up at his inspiration, perched precariously atop a tower of books and can’t help the way his ears twitch in distress seeing that. She raises a stark white (he inwardly flinches. His fault, all his fault) eyebrow that all but dares him to complain about the fact that she’s perched on a pile of books twice his height. “Promised!”

“I… well, yes, but… right now? I was making headway…” A second eyebrow joins its twin and yeah, ok, even he doesn’t believe that one. 

Her gold and silver eyes bear down on him and he wilts slightly 

“It’s only been a week…” he mumbles like a kit that has been caught stealing fish from the pantry. He can go longer without rest; he has done so countless times! It’s only a matter of suspending a few biological processes, only superfluous ones, nothing vital! And rerouting a bit of power from the tower and then he-

A book smacks him in the face and he yelps in pain, hands reflexively cradling his aching nose. He blinks away a few tears and is confronted with the terrifying visage of the Warrior of Darkness in all its unholy glory. A look usually reserved for her enemies and, apparently, foolish friends.

He had said all that out loud, huh. 

“Rest. Now.” X’lial growls, no hint of playfulness to be seen and he knows he’ll do just that, the only difference is whether it’ll be his own choice or forced upon him. 

He sighs, surrendering to the inevitable, lest he finds himself awakening in the Spagyrics and being treated for a concussion after being knocked unconscious. Again. Chessamile will give him that disappointed look again and force feed him tonics and… yeah, ok. Every great strategist knows when to fold. 

“Just for today.”

“Tomorrow.” 

“And tomorrow,” he acquiesces grumpily. “Will you please return my staff now?” He knows he sounds petulant, but he can’t help the way the warrior gets under his skin. Usually it’s nice and even fun, if also terribly embarrassing; right now, however, he’s sharply reminded of their rocky beginnings, after he behaved like a brat and made an ass of himself all in a handful of hours. 

She gives him the sort of incredulous look such question coming from him deserves and proceeds to jump down (carefully! She’s not a book destroying heathen) and takes off, staff held securely in her hands. She hesitates at the door and looks back at him, he’s pouting outrageously but mostly he looks lonely and… lost. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself when he doesn’t have a mission to focus on. She knows the feeling. 

“Raha.” He looks up. He’s frowning and there’s a red bruise on his forehead. He looks ridiculous, and sad. So very old and sad. “Come?” 

He sways in place, torn between the indignity of being forced to take time off and the desire for the same thing, for some peace and quiet and companionship. In the end it isn’t even a choice. He sighs deeply, but smiles at her and this time it reaches his eyes.


	5. Matter of Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adj. Straightforward or unemotional.
> 
> In which somebody very dear is dead and X'lial is going to murder those responsible even if she has to sell her soul to the devil. Alphinaud would really prefer that she didn't, please and thank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Vague allusions to that thing in Heavenswards that never happened. You know, the thing! Starts with a V- and ends with -ault. But it never happened. Nope.  
> Plotting murder for fun and profit.

“You’re hunting him,” Alphinaud affirms, finally catching up to Warrior of Light who… has never looked less than the paragon of Light she’s supposed to represent. He slows down and takes her in.

Gone are the enchanted robes and staff that marked her as one of the few White Mages in existence. To be so trusted by the reclusive padjal it’s something he knows for a fact she takes pride in, so that’s strange by itself. He tries to recall their last conversation and he realises with dread that he can't. She’s been gone so often these past weeks that he has only been able to catch a glimpse here and there, usually of her back, but he doesn’t remember seeing her clad in her signature Dragoon ensemble either, and that’s not an easy armor to miss, never mind the spear twice as long as he’s tall. 

The new armor is a dark, sinister thing; less sharp than her drachenmail, but far more ominous and foreboding overall, to say nothing of the humongous sword clipped on her back. However, if the armor is menacing, then X’lial eyes are an abyss, infinitely deep and holding monsters barely leashed by a thin veneer of civility and the bond of friendship that has grown between them. All his words suddenly desert him and a prickling sensation runs down his back. He refuses to acknowledge it. 

She must see it in his face regardless, because she shifts slightly, casually breaking eye contact. He’s relieved. He feels ashamed.

“I. Am. Going. To. Kill. Him.” She enunciates every word separately, a conscientious effort to make her broken speech whole and her intent absolutely clear. “Slowly. Painfully.” Her eyes flicker in his direction and he could swear there is an ember of red burning behind her gaze. “With. Relish.”

“I…” his throat is parched and his heart is rabbiting in his chest. He has never felt more like prey in front of a predator, not even when they were pledging their case to Hraesvelgr. But this is X’lial, his brain reminds him. The Warrior of Light. But, more importantly, one of his closest and dearest friends. He can’t be afraid of her, _he won’t_ . He’s suddenly gripped with the need to make her _see_ . “I can help… _we_ can help. We are your friends, X’lial, we care and we’re worried.” He can see she isn’t moved. He swallows his panic. “I beg of you, _we can help_ , if- if you let us. Please, X’lial, I… I don’t want to lose another friend. **_Please_ **”. 

X’lial closes her eyes, breathes in and out, and if his brain wasn’t one step away from dissolving into a gibbering mess, Alphinaud would say he can almost track the way she grabs her helpless fury, her grief, her… madness and _pulls_ , tucking it back into the abyss it escaped from, where it’ll wait and bide its time, concealed but never gone. 

Just like that, the feeling of dread that had been steadily building through the whole encounter dissipates and he can finally breathe.

“Zephirin,” he flinches at the amount of venom and loathing injected in that single word. “He’s. Mine,” she says, matter of fact. The sun rises in the East, water is wet, and she’s going to rip Ser Zephirin apart with her bare hands. Simple truths. 

“Of course,” he agrees easily and nods in the general direction of the Forgotten Knight. He doesn’t dare bring up her rooms at Fortemps manor. Even a toddler could see she’s not ready, not yet, probably not for a long time. “Shall we retire and reconvene in the morrow?” 

X’lial nods, words spent, and without waiting to see what he would do, she stalks away towards the inn. He watches her go in silence and observes the way everyone, from peasant to soldier, literally _jumps_ away from her path. They probably have no idea why; hells, Alphinaud barely has any idea what has happened since- since the events of the Vault, and that’s a grievous oversight on his part that may yet prove fatal.

He mentally adds: _keep the Warrior of Light from going off the deep end,_ to his priority list and bumps it up to the top. _Further down the deep end_ , he amends. With a weary sigh Alphinaud turns his steps towards Ser Aymeric’s office. They need a plan right now. And contingencies, as many contingencies as they can fit and then some more just in case.


	6. Hobby [Free day]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. An activity or interest pursued outside one's regular occupation and engaged in primarily for pleasure.
> 
> In which X'lial shows off a hard-earned skill.

X'lial hides the last bit of yarn and blinks tiredly as reality finally starts filtering back after who-knows-how-long; the crackling of the ever present fire, the distant howling of the wind and the quiet murmur of conversations happening nearby. She stretches her back until something pops and sighs in relief. 

She finally looks around to thank Haurchefant for letting her invade his space yet again, but he's nowhere to be seen. Well, that explains the silence and the fact that she wasn't teased within an inch of her life as soon as she finished up. She shrugs and gathers her things. 

Now it's time to find her quarry. Mmm. She yawns and waves at Yaelle on her way out, receiving a nod and smile in return from the efficient woman. As soon as she opens the door she's smacked in the face by a gust of wind and snow, causing her ears to flatten down and her tail to puff, much to the amusement of the few witnesses in range. She gives all of them the stink eye, promising painful and embarrassing retribution later in the sparring ring with one look. They flinch. Good. 

Now, where did Alphinaud say he'd be today? She can't recall, but this climate is too much for her friends (and herself. Snow, ugh) to be up and around outside unless something dire were to happen. Tataru will surely be in the mess hall, sweetly but inexorably twisting everyone around her little finger like the tiny tyrant she is. Alphinaud thought… X'lial hums and follows her nose in the direction she knows the books are. 

“Gift!” She exclaims, and drops her bounty on her now spooked friend. 

“X'lial!” He exclaims, voice cracking slightly and he cringes, eternally embarrassed by the mortifying ordeal of growing up, the baby. She smirks to let him know she heard but doesn't comment. Yet. All in good time, her mama used to say. “I… ah… you don't usually come here!” 

Here being the building that holds the infirmary and also Camp Dragonhead modest collection of books. So she doesn't like infirmaries, sue her. She has spent enough time bedridden to ever look kindly upon those places, no matter how vital they are and the respect she has for the people that work there. There's a reason she diligently trains her white magic and it has everything to do with never being on the other side of that equation again. Quite unrealistic as far as goals are concerned but well, nobody ever accused her of being reasonable.

She shrugs in answer and Alphinaud shakes his head.

“What is this about gifts?” He asks, finally noticing the poorly wrapped present at his feet. He picks it up with care, she notes with pleasure. 

“Just…” she shrugs again. It's just a gift. She doesn't need excuses to give something to a friend. He's her friend and she wanted to, so she did. 

“Oh! This is…” the young boy gently strokes the soft yarn of a blue, white and silver knitted hat. The softest yarn she could make from the best wool she could get her hands on. Luckily for her, there's an abundance of karakul around here and she's very, very good at killing things. He inspects the gloves and the scarf that completes the ensemble and his breath catches in his throat when he recognizes the insignia of the Scions of the Seventh Down painstakingly stitched in each piece. He touches it with a wistfulness and anguish she sees every day in the mirror. “I… I don't know what to say. You made this for me? Why?”

“Wanted to,” she picks up the scarf after receiving a nod from Alphinaud and gently wraps it around his bare neck. “Cold.”

He snorts softly. “That it is.” 

He looks back to the gift, inspecting it more closely. The colors are lovely and his favorite and the craftsmanship is perfect, at least to his untrained eye. And he’s pretty sure he isn’t imagining the way the yarn seems to be radiating warmth, just a tiny bit, but it’ll undoubtedly feel amazing out there.

“I didn’t know you could knit.”

She wiggles her scarred fingers in front of him. “Therapy.” 

“Therapy?” He parrots, unsure if he should continue on this line of conversation, but X’lial doesn’t seem bothered and Alphinaud has never claimed to be anything but chronically curious. “I’m afraid you lost me.”

She gives him a long contemplative look, probably gauging how much she’s willing to tell and how much he actually wants or needs to know. She seems to come to a conclusion because she hums and brushes away the hair that normally covers her forehead and shadows her left eye. It’s the first time he gets a complete look of her face. And the scars. 

He had seen the scars before, at least in part, since it’s not like she goes out of her way to hide them. Not that she _can_ hide them, seeing as the marks from a bad case of road rash cover at least a quarter of her face down to her chin. What he hadn’t seen was the gnarled knot of scar tissue on her temple. From a dent there, it extended almost all the way to the eye and it disappeared the other way back under her hair, where it grew white in patches… Oh. _Oh_. 

He had known, of course, that she had been badly hurt during the Calamity. It was only the bare bones of her background, but it was deemed important enough that Minfilia had filled some blanks, both for her friend's benefit and his own as somebody who would be in constant contact with the warrior. He knew that she ached frequently thanks to old injuries and that the consequences of it still dogged her steps and probably always would.

Somehow it had never occurred to him that badly hurt may have actually been critically. That if fate had been a little crueler (or maybe kinder, he secretly wondered) he would’ve never met her. The thought makes his heart ache. 

“Coordination. Dexterity,” she looks at the hat held loosely in his hands and smiles, wry and bittersweet. “Goal.”

Alphinaud takes a moment to parse her explanation, something he’s proud to say he’s gotten better at of late. “Physical therapy with an immediate goal that netted concrete results and… a sense of accomplishment?”

 _Also an ability that produced material goods that could be sold and didn't require literacy to accomplish, in case the brain damage didn't heal enough,_ he didn’t say, but the thought was there now, digging into his brain like a grain of sand in his boots. 

X'lial hums. Her gaze is kind and he feels warm, the way he had when Lord Haurchefant had shared his hot chocolate when they arrived, bereft. “Hope,” she adds softly. 

His eyes return to the gloves and hat. He puts them on, even if it’s a bit too hot inside for them. 

An ability obtained in the aftermath of tragedy and the deepest most profound pain. Turned into… a gift, for a friend, because she wanted to and is alive to do it. 

“Thank you, my friend.”


	7. Nonagenarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. A person 90 years old or between 90 and 100 years old.
> 
> In which which ghosts are poor conversationalists.

The old woman sits, alone in her self-exile once again. It had been a nice distraction, this strange visit, uplifting but bittersweet. Still, she was glad for it, glad for the chance to reconnect with Y’shtola and meet her friends? Coworkers? Family? In particular the boy, too young by far to be embroiled in world changing business, but then, what else did she expect from that old fox’s grandson? 

She pours herself a cup of tea and adds a generous amount of her favorite liquor to it. There’s a second chair pulled out and another cup, upside down. She isn’t as old and doddery that she'd waste perfectly good tea on ghosts. Not yet.

“A good boy, that grandson of yours,” she muses after a time, a hint of a smile curling her lips. “Just as soft hearted as you and hurtling recklessly into danger, naturally.” 

The smile fades and silence falls, only interrupted by the  _ swish swish _ of her enchanted brooms and the occasional  _ croak _ of her helpers. Master Matoya sees the weight of a whole life reflected back at her through the distorted mirror of her cup.

“He’ll end up like you if he’s not careful,” she says ominously. “At least  _ he _ has good comrades at his back. I guess that’s something,” she pauses to refill her cup and pointedly doesn’t look at the empty space on the other side of the table. “That reckless child of mine will deflate his ego and keep him grounded, and that warrior of his… I get the feeling she’ll jump in between anything that may come his way." 

The silence returns and this time Matoya doesn’t break it. She nibbles on a magically preserved biscuit, thinking back on her visitors, and can’t help but contemplate the state of the world. A silly notion, considering she severed all ties with the outside world a long time ago. Or so she had thought. Shtola’s visit had been unexpected, her friends even more so and her mission… Ah, if only she were some fifty or sixty years younger! The old crone snorts inelegantly, utterly unimpressed with herself. 

“Ah, Louisoix! Look at me now, getting all maudlin in my old age, thinking of adventures and talking to thin air. I’m sure you’re laughing, wherever you are, you silly old sod. As if we didn’t dream of reaching Azys Lla together once. Mmph!

She downs the last of the spiked tea and resolutely gets to her feet. She eyes the old tome those rascals had recovered from the Library. She can’t leave that just sitting in the open, even if her other books would conceal it perfectly. She may be done with the world, or so she had thought, but the world isn’t done with her it seems and she has never met a challenge she didn’t want to face head on.

“What to do with you, I wonder?” 


	8. Clamor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. loud noise; a protest; demand.
> 
> In which X'lial loses her patience and almost lets her Dark Knight out to play. Lucky for the mob, Alphinaud is too good of a mediator.

The noise starts as soon as they leave the Steps of Faith. Hushed at first, as if the crowd is unsure that what they’re seeing is actually there, or maybe they’re just too jaded to believe despite the evidence in front of them. Soon that changes, and the noise grows in volume until what seems like the whole city is pushing forwards, clamoring for attention, shouting demands, yelling at each other, wailing in a relief so great it’s actually painful. It’s deafening.

_‘Is it over?’_ They ask. _‘Is it really over? Is that Ser Aymeric? And the Azure Dragoon? Both Azure Dragoons? No, wait, is that a_ **_Dark Knight_ ** _?!’_ There’s a moment of deadly silence, and then… _‘Wasn’t the Azure Dragoon possessed? …I thought he died? No, no, it was actually Nidhogg in disguise all this time! What? Yes, I saw it with my own eyes! Is it alive? Why is it alive?!’_

Alphinaud is doing his best to soothe the panicking masses, the few knights still standing doing their best to keep people at bay with Lucia at the helm. Aymeric is also trying to settle his citizens but he’s hindered by exhaustion and by having the sudden object of their ire in his arms. X’lial is pretty sure she just saw Hilda and her people tackling the impromptu mob from the other side but the situation is devolving rapidly and soon they’ll have a full on witch-hunt on their hands.

Her head is pounding, she’s tired, she’s bleeding and she can practically feel her sanity _fray_ ing (ha ha) at the edges and snapping, one thread after another. The darkness pulses under her skin like something come alive. She wants quiet and to sleep for a week and to not have to deal with anymore bullshit.

“ **ENOUGH!** ” The miqo’te clad in dark armor snaps, an uncharacteristic growl accompanying her words. 

Wisps of black and red energy coil around her form and down the greatsword she never got the chance to put away. She thinks somebody may be calling her name but she can hear nothing over the rushing of blood in her ears and the tempting call for retribution. She wants to tear all these ingrates into little pieces and feed them to the wild beasts. She knows there’s a reason (a good reason even) why she shouldn’t, but she can’t think of it, she can’t… 

She feels the pressure of a hand on her sword arm. Not pushing or pulling, it just rests there, a silent call for attention she can’t resist answering. It’s Alphinaud, because of course it is, who else is brave and stupid enough to walk up to a Dark Knight teetering over the edge of the abyss? His skin is ashen with exhaustion but his eyes are fierce, determined and worried. It would be more impressive if he wasn’t swaying slightly on his feet, blinking lethargically and clinging to consciousness out of sheer single mindedness.

She knows the feeling very well. _Fucking Nidhogg_.

The would-be mob remained frozen. 

“ **_Move_ **,” she orders and doesn’t wait for a response before hoisting her sword on one shoulder and Alphinaud on the other, much to his consternation if his spluttering protests are anything to go by, and walks in the direction of the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly.

They move.


	9. Lush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adj. Botany (of plants, vegetation, etc.) growing in great number or amount.
> 
> In which the author shoehorns the prompt word in there and proceeds to write about something completely unrelated. Or the one where we take a peek into the past, a great deal of hints are dropped and siblings are precious.

“There you are!” X’lial exclaims and plops down with a happy sigh next to her silent twin. 

He’s sitting under a towering tree, taking shelter from the midday sun. He has a book open on his lap but, judging by the faraway quality of his gaze, he’s obviously not taking in a single word that he’s reading. _If_ he’s even reading which… She recognizes that look on his face and she’s sure the contents of that book is the last thing on his mind. 

As expected, he doesn’t protest or react against her presence, so she takes that as permission to invade his space and manhandle him in front of her. She tugs her gloves off with her teeth and immediately starts unravelling the disastrous mess somebody may generously call a braid. She calls it an affront against nature and fashion, which gets her a distracted snort from X’liam so that’s a win in her book. 

“You didn’t join me today,” she comments inanely, picking out a few stray leaves from his loose hair and running her fingers through it once she’s done, that gains her a contented sigh and a gravelly sort of hum that, once upon a time, may’ve been a purr, if evolution hadn’t done away with that particular feature. “I missed my hunting partner.” 

His ears flick back, a clear sign that he’s listening, even if he doesn’t can’t answer. “It was a bust though,” she sighs, fiddling with a red tipped lock of hair, “nothing but skinny hares and a handful of scraggly birds.”

She looks up, the leaves of the tree block all but the smallest glimpses of blue sky. If she strains her ears she can hear some birdsong not too far and the rushing sound of a nearby creek. Not many trees besides this one though. But that’s normal for this place that straddles the edge between the devastated and scarred Mor Dhona and the lush forests of The Black Shroud. Well, it’s normal _now_ , but they had been only two years old when the garleans and Midgardsormr laid waste to Silvertear and the surrounding area, changing the landscape forever. 

They’re sixteen now. Soon they’ll have to decide which spot in the social hierarchy of their tribe they’ll fill, and X’lial hates to admit it, but she’s worried. Not for her future, not really. She’s a great tracker and hunter, if she does say so herself, even if she prefers getting up and personal with her prey and pummeling it into oblivion with her fists rather than use a bow. Something everyone should be grateful for, really. The only ones with worse aim than her are the toddlers and that’s because they are _toddlers_. 

In addition, her mother is teaching her everything he knows about dyes, what they’re made of, how to make them, how to mix them, how to apply them, how they react to different fabrics, and so on and so forth. 

X’liam hadn’t been there that day or any other day she had her lessons. Because what’s expected of him is not what is expected of her and that… that worries her. How could it not? He is her brother, her twin, her literal mirror image; he’s also the best goddamned marksman in the whole tribe and a genius to rival any old scholar they’ve met _and none of that matters_. Because he’s a Tia and Tias are supposed to use their time to train in order to challenge the Nunh, train to expand the tribe’s territory or just leave in disgrace. And that’s…

It wasn’t that long ago that he had confessed to her that he has the same desire to be Nunh and amass a harem as he has in eating rocks and drinking lava. Which, ok, fair. It’s not like she gets it either, and she wouldn’t care _at all_ , except that takes most of the proper options off the table that aren’t fucking off into the wilds on his own, and like, fucking hells no, over her dead body. 

Well, ok, _technically_ , those aren’t the only options, just the more traditional ones. He _could_ challenge the Nunh for the position of leader that had coalesced into a single one since the last one passed away and nobody stepped up; and he’d be good at it, her brother, if he had even a smidge of ambition in his body. 

“Maybe you can take over X’ra Tia’s post as Lore Keeper,” she muses. “He’s like a million years old already, he’s gotta kick the bucket sooner than later, yeah?” 

He hums, an eerie sound that’s neither agreement or disagreement, just an echo from whatever has snagged his attention. From this angle she can’t see his face but she doesn’t need to; he still wears the same faraway expression, mind drifting after a song that’s always out of reach, or so he had tried to explain once. Whatever exactly happens, she absolutely detests these moments. Not because she’s scared or anything stupid like that, but because he can break her from her fits when she gets overwhelmed by her utterly useless ability; but when he’s like this, when he needs somebody to drag him away from his mind, she’s helpless.

She keeps up the one sided conversation easily, braiding and unbraiding his hair, until she feels him shudder and slump against her in that hesitant way that tells her he’s seeking comfort but doesn’t know _why_.

“I… don’t think it’s going to matter.” He says at last, blinking rapidly to dispel the disorientation of the world coming into alignment once again.

She frowns. “What do you mean? Time’s not gonna stop for us, little brother,” she tugs his now neat braid in reprimand.

“I don’t… know. Just a gut feeling, I guess.” He shakes his head. She knows her words registered when he directs a playful glare her way. “And who are you calling little brother? We’re twins!”

She laughs, loud and wild and relieved, as they rehash the well-worn argument; happy to bask in her brother’s presence and to leave the worries about the future for another day.


	10. Avail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v. to produce or result in as a benefit or advantage.
> 
> In which G'raha is an awkward ~~turtleduck~~ cat, but it's ok, he fixes it in the end.

“…I see you two have met” comments Rammbroes dryly, looking from his troublesome coworker to the warrior that Cid had recommended for her strength of arms as well as character. Right now she looks dangerously unamused, angry and about ready to bite G’raha head off and not in a fun way. 

Cid had also mentioned something about this, hadn’t he? How she’s a terrific fighter, utterly dependable ( _until you put a garlean soldier, or just a garlean, in front of her_ , he had added wryly, a mix of sadness and understanding in his gaze) and in possession of enough anger issues to fill a whole magazine by herself. This was going to be a _fun_ expedition; he could already tell.

He sighs, feeling old and already regretting this. “X’lial Ris, this is G’raha Tia from the Students of Baldesion and our resident expert on all things Allagan. He’s a bit eccentric,” in the background G’raha squawks in outrage. He pays the boy no mind. They wouldn’t be having this conversation if he had kept his mischievousness to himself for a day. “I do hope you’ll find it in yourself to forgive him his little games. He means no harm.”

X’lial’s crosses her arms, causing the corrupted aether that lights their surroundings to hit her armor in just the right way to turn an imposing visage into something truly menacing. He counts his lucky stars that she isn’t obscuring her expression with the full helmet her order wears. This way at least he has _some_ forewarning. 

“Childish,” she snaps, frowning deeply. She’s angry, maybe even unreasonably so, but she hasn’t adventured on her lonesome for years without acquiring a healthy dose of cautiousness when working. It’s not like being an adventurer precludes fun or childish games or that she personally doesn’t enjoy them, but that’s for the taverns or festivals, maybe even the road if you were lucky to get travelling companions; it doesn’t belong in the field surrounded by enemies and unknowns. “Dangerous.” 

“You were perfectly fine!” He protests. It hadn’t been that dangerous really, just a little test.

“ _You. Don’t. Know._ **_Me!_ **”

As it turns out, G’raha had severely misjudged her character. When Cid came to them and dropped the name of an adventurer that probably wouldn’t mind lending a hand to the expedition, he had painted a picture of an honorable but violent woman, who loved adventuring and fighting the Garlean Empire. Brawn over brains, he had thought, and left it at that. 

Secretly, he had been a bit disappointed; he’d have liked to have somebody different to discuss his interests with but, well, that’s not what they need. They need strength, and so he had hatched his plan. They are supposed to trust this adventurer to keep them alive in the Tower against who-knows-what, it was only logical to test her. Or so he thought. Maybe he should’ve run his idea with Cid, as the one person that knows the adventurer personally and how she’d react to being prodded by a stranger, he thinks with some shame, ears dropping pathetically. 

A bit late for regrets now.

Days pass in a sort of tense limbo. While Cid and Rammbroes keep to themselves, busy preparing the crystals that will allow them past the Eight Sentinels and into the Tower proper, G’raha does his best to win the warrior over, to no avail. She seems determined to hate him. 

“I don’t know what else to do!” he complains to Cid one afternoon. He knows he sounds pathetic, he probably looks it too, but he’s at his wits end. He doesn’t even know why this is so important to him. Except that, too, is a lie and _ugh_. 

Since his blunder, he had gone into Ravenant’s Toll and listened to current news and was shocked to hear the warrior’s name on everybody’s lips. X’lial Ris, the Primal Slayer, darling of Eorzea. He… doesn’t know how he missed that. He had heard of her, who hasn’t really? But somehow he hadn’t connected the Legend with Cid’s friend, the one that, in his words, _will surely clean up the path to the Crystal Tower, won’t even take her long I bet, don’t worry!_

He feels stupid.

“She’s stubborn,” Cid concedes. He finishes working on his crystal and turns towards the distraught Seeker. “Have you _actually_ apologized?”

G’raha throws his hands in the air. “I have _tried!_ But she won’t speak to me!”

“Well, that’s normal.” At G’raha’s confused look he elaborates: “She doesn’t speak at all if she can get away with it, and she usually can.”

“But. Why?” He asks, bewildered.

“It’s not really my place to say and I don’t know most of it anyway,” he says. G’raha ears and tail fall and Cid realizes he needs to elaborate a bit or the two most fundamental pieces of the team are going to be at odds until X’lial’s grudge has run its course, which may just be somewhere around the end of the world, for all he knows. “What I _can_ say is that there’s some injury involved and that speaking is not great or easy for her. Anything else you’ll have to ask her.” He sends a dry look the miqo’te’s way. “Something I really don’t recommend.” 

G’raha puffs up, all offended dignity, but surprisingly he doesn’t protest that verdict. Good. Cid knows exactly how that kind of question from a stranger, especially a stranger she doesn’t like, would be received. He wants them to solve their differences, not drive a deeper chasm between them. She forgave him, eventually, but he wasn’t sure if she’d have given him the chance without the intervention of the Empire and Primals and the fact that his contribution had been desperately needed.

“Well, what do you suggest then?” The Seeker finally asks, sulkily but sincere.

“She does like reading,” predictably G’raha perks up. He laughs. “For fun,” he clarifies, in case the boy decides a three hundred years old leather bound tome drier than the Sagolii desert is an appropriate apology gift. Judging by the pout he receives he was right to do so. “Just, start with a gesture, be sincere, and then apologize. She can hold a grudge like the best, but she isn’t unreasonable.”

Usually. Hopefully this is one of those times.

“Right, right,” he mumbles several titles that Cid hopes are nice fun books and not encyclopedias. But well, not his problem anymore. 

He turns back to his crystal and loses himself in the simple but time consuming task of treating with the sand so that it’ll deactivate the trap instead of, you know, exploding in their faces. He surfaces hours later, the sun long gone and the moon high in the sky, but the last crystal is done. He stretches his back, hearing several pops, and sighs in relief. 

He’s marching in the direction of the fire and, most importantly, the food, when he spies G’raha Tia and X’lial off to the side. They’re sitting next to each other. X’lial is holding a huge book open (because of course) and G’raha is pointing at something on it. X’lial nods, points at something else and cocks her head questioningly in her companion’s direction. G’raha ears flick and his tail swish happily as he launches in what Cid can already tell will be a long diatribe on one thing or another. 

He shakes his head. Good for them.

At least now he won’t have to resort to wedge insane suggestion of locking both miqo’te in his workshop until they worked it out. He likes his workshop in one piece, thank you very much.


	11. Ultracrepidarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. someone who has no special knowledge of a subject but who expresses an opinion about it.
> 
> In which there's a strategic exit instead of a murder, Estinien demonstrates he has one (1) friend in high places and both he and X'lial are two halves of a whole feral disaster. Alphinaud continues to be the most long suffering teenager in the Source.

The crunching sound of glass breaking under an unbearable force, followed by the sad sounds of the pieces clattering to the floor, resonates loudly in the ballroom, now deadly silent. In the middle of the commotion is the Warrior of Light, clad in a strange mashup of ball gown and suit plus armor in strategic places that those with experience had spied with approval (and secret envy). 

Her gloved hand flexes. More shards of glass and drops of wine follow the inevitable rule of gravity towards their fate. She feels like them, adrift, broken, falling. Sharp. So, so sharp that most of the time she cuts herself on her edges as well as the enemy. She doesn’t know how else to  _ be _ . Not anymore.

There’s a moment of absolute stillness, the calm before the storm. 

X’lial uses this breather to assess the room and her mood and decides that a strategic retreat is in order lest she causes (more of) a diplomatic incident by murdering this Lord of some or such House in Aymeric’s home in front of a hundred witnesses. That’d be sloppy and Jacke would never let her live it down, neither would Oboro if (when) she met him again. 

She fixes a smile on her face in lieu of the snarl that wants to break free, says a low unapologetic “excuse me,” to the room at large and leaves the room at a clip. 

Nobody stops or follows after her. Good. She’s not going to be held responsible for what happens next if one of those puffed up idiots were to follow her. She had been instructed to be polite. Polite,  _ polite _ ,  **_polite_ ** . She had been so fucking polite that the  _ Lord _ still has a head attached to his body. How’s that for polite? 

She has maybe half a bell of peace and quiet before Estinien spots her on a nearby roof, Alphinaud close to his heels.

“Lord Savalain, did he want to marry you off to his son or himself?” Comments Estinien with all the tact of a punch to the face, except this time she’d actually prefer the punch. 

Alphinaud, who had been hovering anxiously next to the dragoon, opens and closes his mouth, thinks those words over, finding their lack of sense, and opens it again. “What?” 

Estinien shrugs, looking uncomfortable and just plain unnatural in the formal wear required to attend a formal event. Not for the first time X’lial wonders what sort of blackmail the Lord Commander has on the Azure Dragoon.  _ Friendship _ , a voice in her head whispers and she grimaces, she’s not sure friendship is worth getting stuffed into one of those suits. 

“Lord Savalain son is an Officer in Falcon’s Nest, he’s been doing his best to climb up the ranks, has a good head for strategy and has led a few successful ranging in the wilderness, or so I’ve heard.” He shrugs indifferently, as if that wasn’t more information dumped on them in a minute that they could’ve gotten in a day full of running around playing errand boy. He looks even more uncomfortable being at the receiving end of their incredulous stares. 

“And his father,” prompts Alphinaud, never one to shy from the opportunity to learn something. 

The dragoon looks away but answers all the same. “A blowhard.” A glowing review, also true from her experience. “A danger to himself and others with a weapon, marginally more useful in the diplomatic arena,” he slants a look towards X’lial, “usually subtler about his machinations.” A pause. “Utterly loyal to the Archbishop.”

“Ah,” is all Alphinaud can say to that. Ishgard politics were so tangled with their zealous religion that not even a prodigy like him, with an inclination towards diplomacy to boot, has been able to make much headway there. He turns to X’lial. “So what did he say?”

“Lectured,” she grounds out, equally furious and offended. 

“Ah, yes,” Estinien says, voice gaining a commiserating tone. “Let me guess… You did a good job, but your strategy was poor, not your fault, obviously, but if you were to do this or that, maybe call on his son, a very good strategist, you know, then maybe victory could’ve been won faster with less loss of life. Not that he’s blaming you! No, goodness no. But well, it’s something to consider for next time.” He peers at her dark expression. “Close?”

“Yes,” she admits, ruffled feathers slightly calmed now. “Marriage.”

Estinien snorts and proceeds to mock the lord’s speech almost perfectly. “Naturally, you’re a  _ great _ warrior, a bit unpolished (he means uncivilized) but strong, his son is a great strategist, he’s also good looking, surely you can see the  _ advantage _ of such a  _ joyous _ union.” He takes a deep breath through clenched teeth.

X’lial sends him a look. “Daughter?” 

Ah. Now that growl sounds more like her half-feral friend. 

“Ultracrepidarianism is something of an Olympic sport amongst the nobles here.” He says, steering the conversation away from any daughter or anything even resembling the shape of marriage. “Or anywhere I’d bet,” he says with a sardonic tilt of his head, eyes shifting slightly to the noble brat in their midst. 

Said noble brat startles and squawks a “hey!” of protest that goes unaddressed except for the smirks on the pair of dragoons. 

“Don’t let it get to you.”

X’lial nods, she knows, she  _ does _ . She’s just, not used to these things yet, balls and banquets and important people that actually want to speak to her. Why would anyone want that is beyond her ken. Still, they do and she has learned to… endure it.

That doesn’t mean she’s ready to go back to being gawked at, this time with extra awkwardness. She gauges her fellow dragoon, noticing his antsy demeanor and the fact that he’s here, explaining things to them, instead of in there, mingling with his people. Except, well, they really aren’t his people, are they? If Estinien ever were to put a claim to any people it’d be the soldiers, the other dragoons maybe, those that live and die and die and  _ die _ alone amongst the enemy.

He looks back, a challenge in his blue eyes. She bares her teeth in answer.

“Race?”

He grins widely, a savage baring of teeth to match her own. 

The last thing she hears before jumping away is Alphinaud's long suffering sigh.


	12. Tooth and Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adv. With every available resource; with unrelenting effort.
> 
> In which there's a cuddle pile, fluff and a moment's respite. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague 5.3 spoilers. The kind a person who doesn't look them up, but doesn't avoid them may know. (Yes, that's me! :D)

Of all the things you were expecting as you made your way back from the Tower, precious cargo in hand, a slumber party was not one of those. 

When you finally enter the Rising Stones, you're received by muted cheers, not because they aren’t ecstatic at the Scions revival, but exactly because of that, because the rejoining of mind and soul to body had been taxing and everyone is utterly drained. Tataru is also waiting for you and right next to her is Krile. Krile, who immediately zeroes on the body you're carrying on your back.

"Is he…" _alive_ , she doesn't say, doubt and hesitation plain in her face, even though she should know better. She _does_ know better. She can see and feel his aether after all, deeper and richer than before, but still the same hue it’s always been. But maybe that's why, the miqo'te on your back probably feels little like the young man she knew. Like the friend she thought lost forever.

He may not be lost, but he certainly isn’t the same man, and for all that Krile has known that all along, it’s a hard truth to reconcile when finally presented with undeniable proof.

“Tired,” you say.

Before the start of this journey, G'raha had explained his experience to you, what it had felt like to wake up 200 years in the future, how weak he had been despite the fact that his body was perfectly preserved; how tired he had been, as if 200 years of slumber had just been a two minutes’ catnap after a two days’ bender.

This time it wasn’t nearly as long, barely three years and change, but the feeling is much the same. Or so he had said, face pressed to the floor on Xande’s throne room, after his failed attempt at standing on his own two feet landed him there. 

Krile hovers around you for a moment, uncharacteristically anxious and solemn. You don’t know her well enough to guess at her thoughts but you don’t think you imagine the relief in her gaze, the fondness in the slant of her mouth, the worry hidden underneath it all.

After a moment or two, she shakes herself and turns away in a direction you know by heart. “Come, the others are already resting.”

You follow behind her, despite the fact that the path towards the Scion’s temporary lodgings is burned in your memory. You say nothing, for if there’s a thing you have in common with her is your love for these people and you understand in a visceral way the urge to check and recheck that they’re alive and here and present. 

That this is not a dream. 

If the life you now carry on your back hadn’t been on the line, you would have never left their sides, not until they got tired of your hovering and sent you on your way.

You weren’t expecting the slumber party. 

The beds had been stripped bare and pushed against the walls, and in the middle of the room, in a nest made of mattresses and every single piece of bedding in the room, was the cutest, most wholesome image you had ever seen in your life. occupying a place of honor in the middle were the twins, Alphinaud face up and Alisae half draped over him like the most belligerent and most protective blanket in all worlds. To one side, not quite touching but definitely turned towards the youngest members, was Urianger. Thancred was on the other side, arm extended over the twins and unconsciously reaching towards the one person not in touching distance. Finally, Y’shtola was draped over Thancred’s back like a lazy cat, tail swishing contentedly. 

She’s the only one that stirs at your entrance, opening a blind eye in your direction. She doesn’t speak, as that would only disturb the precarious balance. She hums and smirks in your direction and then closes her eye again, breathing evening out. 

Next to you, Krile huffs, part amusement, part exasperation. “We told all of them to rest,” she whispers, not really upset.

You hold back a snort. As if Y’shtola would ever do something just because she’s told it’s in her best interests. 

You move forward and proceed to carefully disentangle G’raha dead weight from your back and onto a free spot close to Urianger. You don’t plan to stay, as you don’t need rest like they do, used as you are to traversing the rift. But before you can get up, G’raha’s hand weakly tangles in yours, pining you as surely as if he had casted a spell on you.

“My… friend?” he asks, voice rough with sleep. You see him visibly struggle to wake up and you can almost see his thoughts running around in a panic because if you’re leaving then there’s a job to do, an enemy to fight or a friend to assist and he can help. _He can help_.

“Fine. I’m. Fine,” you say softly. He languidly blinks up red, red eyes up at you, adorably confused and so visibly exhausted you feel tired just looking at him. “Rest.” 

“But…”

“I… stay,” you assure him, “rest.”

“...okay,” he mumbles and just like that he’s once again unconscious.

So that’s how you sit watch over your family that night. 

G’raha never liberates your hand and at some point he moves and curls until his head rests on your knee, which you know must be uncomfortable as hell, but he seems more content than ever so you let him be. Instead you use your free hand to pick apart his braid and proceed to run your fingers through his hair, marveling at its softness as well as its rich red color, not a single white tip in sight. He curls closer to you at this, but doesn’t stir. 

You look up and you feel the same marvel at the sight of your family, reunited in the correct world at last, finally out of (immediate) danger. Something tight and hot in your chest loosens its hold on your heart, until you can finally take the first full breath you have had since Thancred collapsed in front of you, so long ago. You’re here, you’re all here, safe and sound. Alive. It’s a marvelous thing, a miracle you sometimes didn’t feel you could pull off and then your failure would signify the deaths of this patchwork family you somehow managed to build. 

It’d have killed you.

But you fought, and moved and ran and fought some more; with the Empire self-destructing and wreaking havoc on one side, the threat of Zenos looming on the other, and Elidibus doing his damned best to ruin it all. You fought tooth and nail through it all so that you could get this miracle, your friends and family at your back, as always lending you their wisdom and strength to continue, and you did it. You all did it. 

You can hardly believe it, even with the evidence right in front of you. But it is true, and somehow you let yourself relax, you let yourself live in this moment where you’re all safe and reunited. 

There’s more, much more to do, but for now, for tonight, you let yourself breathe, you let yourself just be. 

Unseen, Krile smiles as the most bull-headed member of the group finally surrenders to her well-earned rest. She closes the door with utmost care and finally lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Sweet dreams,” she whispers to the empty hallway.


	13. Heart(break) [free day]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. crushing grief, anguish, or distress.
> 
> Sad AU for the ending of SHB 5.0, so SPOILERS!   
> What if the Exarch’s plan had succeeded? Emet-Selch never showed up for Reasons(TM) and so the Exarch took the Light and off he popped to die in the Rift. Congratulations G'raha, you broke your hero!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNINGS:** Spoilers for the ending of SHB 5.0 and therefore! (Mayor) Character Death, only mentioned. Angst. Idk, i feel this is a pretty bad end all told.

The Crystal Exarch hadn't meant for what had happened to occur. Of that much they were certain. He had been a good man, he toiled for more than a hundred years in order to save two worlds, found a way to travel time and space to do it and, miraculously, he succeeded. Everything he had done had been done with his people in mind and with the best of intentions. 

But good intentions mattered little in the face of the devastation his death caused has caused to one they love so much. 

Nobody who has ever spent time with the Warrior of Light and Darkness would say she was fragile. Her petite form hid a strength that defied belief, from handling weapons bigger and heavier than her, to mastering both black and white magic to an extent never seen before, she was a force to be reckoned with even before she started liberating Nations. A one-woman army in every sense of the word. 

However, physical strength is only a little part of the equation that made a person. It had taken Alphinaud time to learn that underneath the legend, behind the strength to level mountains and kill gods, lay a real flesh and blood person, with feelings and troubles and a heart that had broken long before he even met her. 

But she soldiered on, and even broken things could be put back together if enough care was spared to fix them. He had done his best, once a certain dragoon beat the reality of the Warrior’s humanity into his head and opened his eyes. He had taken it upon himself to help, as much as such things can be helped. But how can you keep together a heart that keeps being broken? Loss after loss after loss. Each one a blow fit to topple anyone. And yet X’lial stood up and marched on, a woman on a mission. 

Once he had been made aware of the cracks in the façade he simply couldn’t unsee them, and that made him afraid, for she wasn’t just the Warrior of Light to him, not anymore. She was his friend, his older sister in all but blood, and _she was not okay_. 

**_How many times can you break a heart before even the pieces crumble into dust?_ **

But G’raha Tia. Alphinaud had never crossed paths with the man, but he knew something of the Crystal Tower history by now, considering the bloody thing from the First had spat them at the feet of its twin in the distant past. Their present.

He didn’t know how on earth their bodies had been transported there too, but he was glad for it, because he thinks X’lial may have beaten herself to death against those closed doors if she had arrived alone. As it stands… well. It was nothing magic couldn’t fix, if only other things were as easily fixed as bodies.

G’raha Tia and X’lial had been friends, once upon a time. This he knew. They had traversed the Crystal Tower together, spent months in each other company, getting to know each other. Alphinaud didn’t know if the friendship had developed into something more, the whole expedition being little more than a blip on his radar back then. 

His loss had been a blow to her. The first of many that’d follow. He was the first crack in a heart barely recovered and that bled anew. 

It wasn't just G'raha Tia loss though. No. It was The Exarch’s too, for they were as different as night and day, even if they had occupied the same body once. Despite the initial fumble that brought them to the First and the calculated distance he tried to keep at all times, the man had been a mentor, a protector, their guide in a strange new land and, eventually, a friend. 

Alphinaud had never met G'raha Tia, but he had known the Exarch, as much as such a man could be known. And now he was gone. Sacrificed himself to save the world, both worlds as it turned out. 

Mostly he did it for her. To save her. And that… 

For a man who had spent the equivalent of lifetimes studying the Warrior of Light, he surely managed to miss the most obvious thing, the most important thing. That _she cared_. She cared far, far too much. And the people she loved kept getting hurt, kidnapped and killed.

**_How many times can you shatter a heart before there’s nothing left at all?_ **

They are recovering at the Rising Stones and for the first time in days he has a moment alone with X’lial. Everybody had fussed over her, tried to draw her out, but she…

Alphinaud looks at her, takes her in. The stark white hair where before there had been black and white; the tan skin now liberally streaked with jagged lines of silver, like a kintsugi project a step to the left. He wonders if the skin there would feel warm, like human skin, or cold and clammy, like sin eater. 

He bits back the instinctive question that wanted to burst forth. 

Beyond that she looks unchanged. Same slightly slouched posture, same passive expression, and yet…

"Is everything alright my friend?"

She blinks slowly, as if sleepy despite obviously being ready for a new day. She lifts her mismatched eyes from the greatsword she had been polishing and nods at his question, obviously not in the mood to fish for words that always came unwillingly to her even after all this time. 

"That's good, I'm glad." Alphinaud says, trying to get a read on this strange mood, but all he gets for his trouble is a whole lot of… nothing. Nothing at all. 

The problem is not that she’s grieving, it’s exactly the opposite. For all that she’s rosy cheeked and moving around, it’s languid, rote; for all that she listens and responds, there’s no initiative, no feeling to any of it. The Sin Eaters had shown more life in their eternal hunger that the person sitting in front of him right now does. 

"We have no pressing business to take care of right now" he continues, lying badly. She doesn’t call him on it, if she even notices.

The Exarch may’ve managed to prevent Black Rose from becoming a Calamity on its own, but the dreadful weapon was still out there and they had to find it and destroy it. 

Alphinaud clears his throat, it feels like something got stuck there. "So… take some time to rest and recuperate and if you need anything…" he trails off.

X'lial nods again, eyes distant, before turning her attention back to the dreadfully familiar sword. 

It is a long, dark, foreboding thing, that sword. She had taken it up after Lord Haurchefant’s death and used it exclusively for a very long time. Such a long time that he had been extremely surprised to see the return of the spear and the comfortingly familiar silhouette of the dragoon armor. The spear is nowhere to be seen today, or any day that follows, because he knows where it is now. Shattered at the feet of a tower, like a bloody offering to its slumbering lord. Or maybe a metaphor. 

His breath hitches in his throat and suddenly Alphinaud can’t stand to spend a single more second in this room, sitting next to the living dead.

**_How can you do it? How can one person go through so much heartbreak and still move forward? Where is the fault line, the shatterpoint?_ **

During the course of X’lial’s many adventures, Alphinaud had often asked himself these questions, admiring of his friend strength, naive in his belief that there was no answer to be found. 

Alphinaud turns around and leaves, his eyes burn with tears and he lets them fall. For himself and for her, for all the tears she isn’t crying and may never cry again.

He had never expected to find the answer.

How naïve of him.


	14. Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v. to separate or cause something or someone to separate.
> 
> In which X'lial says goodbye to a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** for SADS. And that Heavensward thing that NEVER happened, you know the one. There's also a paragraph of glitchy text.

_Hello, my friend. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?_

_I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner. I should have but… I kinda went a bit insane for a while there, I won’t bore you with the details, I’m better now, not… I wouldn’t say **sane**. Not… really. Fray is still here, after all. I haven’t mentioned him, have I? He’s a part of me, all the things I hid and repress, and also bits of memory from somebody else. Sounds weird, I know. But it seems like he’s here to stay and I don’t think I mind, not really, he… he reminds me to think for myself, about myself. I’m really bad at that stuff, as you very well know. You’d probably get along just because of that I bet. _

_But all that… I’m dodging the matter, I know. I just really didn’t want to come here. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want proof. Silly, isn’t it? I was there, after all. My hands soaked red with your blood and… other stuff; it doesn’t get more real than that, does it?_

_I wasn’t ready, I guess._

_I don’t think I am yet, I’m not sure I will ever be, to be honest, but I’m leaving soon and… I can’t go without saying goodbye now, can I? That’d be so rude and you know how much I hate being rude. Heh._

_I just… I miss you, you know? Your optimism, your smile and the way you lighted up every room just by being **you**. I miss sparring with you and our quiet evenings just existing together, soaking in each other’s presence. Did I ever tell you how nice that was? Nobody had ever done that for me, carve a little space where I could just **be**._

_I loved you, I think._

_I mean, I know I loved you, like a friend, at first, but after… I don’t know. I have never been in love (little crushes don’t count!), so I don’t know what it’s like. And I… I wasn’t ready, I know that. I’m not sure if I will ever be. I don’t know if I **want** to be. How sad is that? That I’d prefer to stay like this, broken and more than half mad; the word rabid has been thrown around too. Ah! I can practically see your disapproving frown from here. But it’s true, isn’t it?_

_I’m damaged, my friend. I’m mean and violent and hateful by turns but somehow you saw more than the sum of my faults and I… how could I not love you? There’s this mess of feelings in my chest mixed up with rage and grief and I can’t separate them any more than I can stop my heart from beating. I know I have tried, on both accounts, if my reckless pursuit of your murderer counts as suicidal._

_Anyway! We are leaving for Gyr Abania next. Well, I have already been snooping around, fought an asshole, saw a(nother) Primal summoning, ~~saw a friend die, again!~~ fought some imperials, same old, same old… But, joking aside, things are getting serious there and we, the Scions I mean, are going to be in the thick of it from the look of it. _

_With the Dragonsong war over, Ishgard doesn’t need us anymore. Oh, they’d say they do, I don’t think it’s conceited to say that I have become quite the weighty chess piece, it’d be a… declaration, to have me on their side, and as much as I love your family, and Estinien and Aymeric and a handful of others, I **loathe** Ishgard. _

_I just. I’m sorry. Sorry. I just can’t stand it. The ignorance, the willful blindness, the constant air of superiority as if they had anything to do with the peace they’re enjoying, a_ _s if they were the ones that bled and died for that peace. You are the one who ͔̌ḏ̌i̧e̘͡d̫͝.̣͂ I͊͢ ̢͕͆̚am͙̪͂͋ ̛̯t̢̑h̩͚̩͊͆e̻̹̾͛̋͟ ̝̟̽̚͟͝o̡̻͋̋ͅn͔̱͖̽̇̎e̢̳̋̽̾͟ ̡͉̯̊͌w̩͇̹̎̾̀h̺̜͊̚͜o̢͚̺̎̈́͘ ̨̰̣́͂̇b̗̹̤̑̈́̑l͔̠̰̑͆̌ę̦̋͐͝ͅd̼̮̦̓̊̔.̠̼̻̅̓̕ ̧̭̩̆͒Ẽ̠̻̙̅͛ṣ̝̖͌̍̍t̤̼̗̒͡ī͎̲͘͟͡ṋ͔̏͊̔͟i̜̤̱̾̋͗ë̛̜͚͇́̇ņ̬̙̅̊ ̘̬̣̅͐͐Ĭ̛̹͍̟̃ ͚̺͓̃̑̌ṯ̤̍̐͜͡h̘̰̍̍͆͜ę̢̳͒̓͠ ̧̮͒͗́ͅơ͖̳̠̂̕n̛̪̼̦͌ȇ̛̞̮̳ ͈̞͛̐͜͞w̞̙̳̓͋̀ḫ͕̯̂͋̚ǫ̘̼̓̚ ̠̦̭̊̾͞g̱̦̪̋́̎o̥͎͉̅͑͞t̫̩̱̊̈͠ ̢̨̫̈̾͆p̢̮̗̍̑͊o̧̳͚͂̉͆ṡ̡̠̟̏̎s̼͖̊̓̕ͅè̝͍̌͂͟s̫̣͌͟͠s̡̮͙̅̂͝e̪͕̣͗͒͒ḋ̬͎̻̀͞.̡̨͔̂̓ ͍͔̝̔̏̚Ȧ͇͖̒̈ͅy̖̹̱̒̈́m̢͚̪͒̃̇e̤̙̰̊̐̽r̤̮̈͂́ͅi͍͂͗͛͢ͅc̛̪̥͖̅̚ ̹͇̰͌̅͡ẗ̩̭̼́̄̏h̫͍̒̓͊͜e͉̣̞͆͊͝ ͈̖̻̿̄̑ǫ̜̼̏̕n̪̖̖̈́̾̈e̞̭̙͗̒̒ ̪̗̗̓́͘t͇̞̟͑̃̃h̪̘̮̑̍͝ą̙͔̍̽̅t̙̰̣͊̿̚ ̫̤͖͆͂̆g͎͎̟͆͆o̱̙̒́̐͟t̝̬͔̔́͡ ̡͓̣͂̓͛t̨͎̮͛o͚͚͎̊͐̀ŗ͎̤̒̿t̗̥̥̅͑͠u͖̲̾͂̒ͅr̝̪̦͋ȅ̙̝̦̿̕d͉͎͍̈̔̽ ̼͙̳́̌͋ȁ̬̳͜͝͞n͖͖͍̊̌d̗͚̞̅̒̓ ̧̤̱̈͠a̡̻̩̍̓͆l̙̤͕̄͘m͍̺͕̊̉͆o͓͛̌͌͢͟ş̪̥̏̚ṱ̛̦̻̇͋ ̢͙̦̉̓̓â̳̱͉͐̈s̰͉͔̓͂s̜͕͉͂̉͗a̡͈̼̍̌͒s̟̫̺̑͛̀s̻̗̙̉͂̂i̡͉̬̐̄ṇ̛̤̙͆̎a̻͓͉͂̐͌t̤̝̥̄̎e̜̦͙̓̃ḋ̘̰̜̓̓ ̭̱̀͌͜͝b̬̖̭̂͑̐y̧͔̬͋̌̑ ̗̱͕̌̓̎ **T̸̻̺̑̈H̶̰̘̍̈́͊͜Ë̵̥́͗̓̀͋͘M̷̳̮̙̼̘͖͑̎.̸̧̨̣̻̪͔̰̈́̈́̋̏̄̈́ͅ ̸̢̟̺̣̈́̈Ḣ̴̛̰̪̒͆̉Ơ̷̧͎̜̪̩͈̰̌͊̋̓̿W̴̧͉̝͒͋͒́̿̉͝ ̷̢́͌̈́͛̊͠D̴̯͙̱̙̉͂̈́̿̚͝A̸͎̻̙̝̯͈͎̽R̴̯̭̽̔E̶̤̟͈̓̊͗ ̶̨͍̱͚͕̈́̿Ṭ̶̙͖̝̳͂́̑̕̕H̶̼̊Ȇ̶̛̠̊̊̅̾͌͝Ẏ̸̙̽̈̈́̈?̵͕͎͗**_

_…_

_…i’m fine. sorry. that went a bit weird, but i… it’s ok. i- we- **I am** working on it. it's fine. _

_…just fine._

_Anyway._

_We’re leaving. So I guess…I guess I just wanted to say goodbye._

_This is silly… well, no, it’s not. I feel silly though. We parted ways a long time ago. I just didn’t have the guts to say goodbye, as if by not admitting then you weren’t really gone._

_But you are. You are gone. And it still hurts so damn much sometimes I feel like I could fly apart at the seams or burst into tears and dissolve. I can’t, of course, but it feels like it. Why is it that you’re dead and yet it is me who feels like I’ve been dying all this time? How is that fair?_

_Not that fair has ever had a place in the world beyond childish notions._

_…I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get like this. I guess I can’t help it, not here, not while I’m holding this shield._

_I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I just wanted some closure, maybe I felt like I was forgetting and wanted to hurt anew, I’m not sure it matters. But I’m here now and… I’m glad I finally visited._

_The view is beautiful._

_I’m sure you love it, wherever you are. Be at peace, my friend._

“Goodbye.”


	15. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. 1. A dull, steady pain.  
> 2\. A painful sorrow.
> 
> In which many things hurt and only a portion of those relate to the body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW:** Vague spoilers for 5.0 and after, but nothing beyond 5.2

He’s looking at her.

That’s not unusual. G’raha has practically turned his penchant for fretting and his stalking tendencies into an art form. A subtle one, usually, but she knows that her current glamour displays more bared skin than her usual total of none at all, except for the face and sometimes not even that much. Her Bard glamour is one the few that show off her arms and legs, as such her scars are visible, but more importantly, so are the consequences of absorbing so much light aether that the only reason she didn’t succumb was the sacrifice of _yet another_ friend.

X’lial gamely ignores the ache that thinking of Ardbert always brings. Now is not the time. ~~It never is.~~

In any case, ever since that day, her tanned skin is a map of silvery-white lines, going every which way without rhyme or reason. Every ilm of it. Everybody has seen her face, of course, and the almost elegant way the lines spider web from the scar on her left temple across her face and down her neck. No portion of her body was spared. And now she has bared her arms and legs to scrutiny.

A test, if you will. For herself but also her companions. She needs to know even if she has to push.

Judging by the staring and blank expression ~~blank in a way that screams ‘I’m feeling too many things and I can’t deal so I’ll shut down’~~ , well, it doesn’t seem like it’ll go great.

“Does it hurt?” He asks at last, ears lowered and voice low, hesitant and… shamed. Guilty.

It makes her want to scream sometimes, the way he takes responsibility for every bad thing that happened to the people under his aegis and, specifically, to her. And fine, in this occasion he shares a good portion of the fault, but so does she. She made her choice, even if it was under unfavorable circumstances. Her whole like has been a conga line of unfortunate circumstances atop terrible options, that doesn’t make her choices any less _hers_.

She closes the distance between them, watches as his crystal hand clenches on his staff, a nervous tick he developed at some point after they parted ways. She can’t see it, but she imagines that his tail is lashing about in nervous anticipation too.

She nods towards his crystalized arm. “Does it hurt?” she parrots back.

He isn’t the only one with observational skills. She has also watched him and wondered, and X’lial is almost certain that the arm doesn’t bother him. She can’t say if that’s true for the… seams of flesh and crystal, but that wasn’t her question, was it?

His brow furrows in confusion. “I… no? It…” he hesitates again, either unsure of why she’s asking that or of sharing personal information. Still, answer he does. “It doesn’t feel much like anything anymore.”

She nods. “Exactly.”

His ears perk up again as they always did whenever a mystery was at hand. Huh. She thought they realized but… but maybe they didn’t. Oh. _Oh_.

“Not body,” she says, tracing the dramatic swept of one of those marks. “Soul.”

He startles at that but, after a moment of consideration, he simply looks sad. Heartbroken and, once again, guilty.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he says again, as he has repeated hundreds of times already. “There aren’t enough words in any language to express how sorry I am for putting you through that. Even if…”

“No.” She decides to interrupt before he can lose himself in another spiral of self-loathing and regret.

“Even so, I do regret that I caused you pain.”

She shrugs, unconcerned. “Normal.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be!” He explodes suddenly. “Constant pain isn’t supposed to be the _norm_ , X’lial!” As sudden as his fury came it was immediately replaced by regret and a deep sadness bordering on anguish. She is very alarmed to see his eyes shine with unshed tears. He looks away. “I apologize for my outburst. It was unbecoming of me and it was never my intent to… to add to…” 

“Raha. Stop.”

He flinches and she can’t help it, she reaches out, and after receiving a nod of permission, she grabs his hands. “Listen.”

She points once again at her left arm. They’re so close he can see every single detail of those terribly unnatural marks, but it’s not them she’s pointing at. Instead she’s tapping at the scars he remembers spying a lifetime ago. There are more of them now, of course, but underneath the round bullet wounds, the cuts and stab wounds are even older scars. Burns, from friction and fire he thinks, or maybe slag.

“Calamity,” she says. “Ache always… Always.” She squeezes his hands, one spoken, one crystal veined with gold; a stark contrast to her tan ones veined with silver. Anomalous is what they are. Perfectly imperfect. “Normal.”

“…I understand.”

He does, she can see that. And yet, he also doesn’t seem inclined to take her word at face value and simply accept what she says as the whole truth. Why is she friends with such stubborn people?

They separate when they hear the Scions voices approach, discussion tabled for the moment. She takes a deep breath and steels herself for more reactions, if Raha is in any way a sample of how the rest of her family will react.

She’s glad she didn’t tell him about the soul deep ache radiating from that place deep within, where an unfathomable amount of Light once sat, crushing her form the inside out with its terrible weight. They will never get anything done if everyone keeps hovering around her like mother hens over their first batch of chicks.


	16. Lucubration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n.   
> laborious work, study, thought, etc., esp. at night.

It's long past dinner time when X'lial finally closes the old tome and decides to call it a day. She stretches in her seat, reclining the study chair on its back legs, until her back pops back into place after long hours of slouching over a book.

A shiver goes down her spine and all the way to the tip of her tail, and she can't help but groan in a mix of pain and relief.

She really doesn't understand how Alphinaud or Serenity can do this so often. Their jobs do require an obnoxious amount of pouring over old books from a lost civilization, so there's that. She likes to read, sure, but she draws the line at hauling around a book and calling it a weapon.

_Not that she'll say as much to Serenity, what do you take her for? X'lial likes living and, most importantly, she likes doing so in one piece._

_'Not that I have much room to talk anymore',_ she thinks wryly as she rolls up the star charts and proceeds to put them back in their shelves, ' _what with deciding I'll go out there and fight with a deck of cards and lady luck as my weapon.'_

Rapidly, she grabs her copies of the charts and her notes and she stuffs them without much ceremony in her trusty backpack. And just like that she's back out in the freezing streets of Ishgard. She breathes deeply, feels the icy air scrape against the back of her throat. It really is freezing tonight; the sky, however, is crystal clear, the stars bright like jewels over black velvet.

A yawn of magnificent proportions breaks the stillness. Right. Bedtime for all studious little miqo'te everywhere, and this one in particular.

With one last look at the jeweled sky, X'lial turns her steps towards the Fortemps manor, tail swishing contentedly as she hummed a long forgotten song.


	17. Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v.intr.  
> 1\. To lose brightness, loudness, or brilliance gradually.  
> 2\. To lose strength or vitality; wane  
> 3\. To disappear gradually; vanish.

Under the fading light of twilight, X'lial sits alone. The newly unveiled night sky is, as always, beautiful and from her perch she can see the people of the Crystarium frequently stop what they're doing to simply marvel at it. 

If nothing else, she's happy for this. She's happy she managed to bring back something so precious, a thing most, if not all of them, had never seen. She's glad she managed to kindle the fire in their hearts, being here to witness the fading hope in everybody's eyes brighten and start to burn anew is a privilege she doesn't get tired of. 

She had seen it in the people from Ishgard, Ala Mhigo and Doma. How a spark of hope can light up a fighting spirit all but dead. And, in the end, that's what she is, a spark. Even if there'll be need for the brute force she can bring to bear in the future, to crush the remaining Light, the rebuilding of this world is in the people's hands, as it should be. They have already started, some of them, making tentative plans for a future they had hardly dared think of. 

It's not going to be easy, experience tells her. On either side. But the Exarch's city is filled with good and hardworking people and she has her family at her back once more. She's sure between all of them they can win this, not just one battle but the whole war too.


	18. Panglossian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adj. Blindly or naively optimistic.
> 
> In which Estinien is his grumpy self because underneath that armor he’s actually a person shaped marshmallow that frets over his friends.

“Why are any of you allowing this nonsense?”

X’lial looks up from the campfire towards her fellow dragoon. However, Estinien isn’t looking in her direction, his attention solely on the youngest member of the group. He’s sleeping as far as he can see. Lady Iceheart sits near the boy, alert and probably eavesdropping. Whatever, as long as she doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t care how she wastes her time. 

“We have barely set out and you’re already slotted to fight a god in the morrow,” his lips thin in displeasure. He hates the idea of standing back and allowing a… comrade to walk into a deadly fight completely alone. “He’s going to get you killed in the name of some nonsensical ideal and yet you obey and encourage him.”

X’lial shrugs, trying to appear unconcerned but he has learned some of her tells since the time he saw her grab the Eye and she started down the path of the dragoon, and the way her tail keeps twitching and thumping the ground without rhyme or reason speaks of nervousness. Or maybe anticipation. He never said he could understand the body language of cats, just read it.

“Is not. Bad. Diplomacy,” she says and even under the cover of the night he can see the unconvinced slant on her passive expression.

He snorts derisively. “It’s pure, willful blindness is what it is. This war has been ongoing for night a thousand years, one brat with a silver tongue isn’t going to change a thing.”

“He has. Hope,” she defends but even to his ears she sounds doubtful.

Maybe she also harbors some hope that the impossible can happen, but his fellow Azure Dragoon is a realist and he can see the doubt in her eyes. She will do as the little Lord says, for now, but she’s not following blindly. That much, at least, is a relief.

“He has a desperate need to prove himself,” he retorts hotly. “To make up for whatever blunder landed all of you in this godforsaken, frozen and war-torn land.”

X’lial shifts. He watches in something like fascination the way her ears tilt form one side to the other continuously, following sounds he can’t hear, keeping a far more affective guard than either him or the heretic could. “Maybe,” she acquiesces at last. “He is. Young. And… mm. Learning.”

At that Estinien can’t help but laugh, a short, bark like sound that holds no amusement, only bitterness and resignation.

“He is young,” he parrots mockingly. “So what? War never waited for anyone to grow up before ruining them,” he spits with far more vitriol than he intended. Not good, he can almost feel Nidhogg attention searching for the surge of rage. He takes a breath and then another and a third one for good measure. “But since the lordling has decided to stick his nose in the middle of a bloody war, of all things, then he will be better served if he sheds that stupidly naïve notion that he can make _peace_ by _talking_ to the winged beasts.”

He can practically feel the heated glare coming from Iceheart side, but he keeps the pretense that she’s not here and their group consists of only three people.

“If peace could be bought with a few words and some apologies, then don’t you think it’d have happened sometime in the past thousand years?” He shakes his head. “No, there can’t be peace while Nidhogg lives, as even in his slumber he continues to fan the flames of Revenge, I’m certain you can feel it as much as I do, X’lial.”

He sees her reluctant nod out of the corner of his eye. She’s not happy with his assessment, he can tell, but she also knows it’s nothing but the truth. Nidhogg lives for revenge, for carnage and the death of everyone living in these lands. His hatred permeates everything, stains everything, it’s a living thing on its own and nothing but utter destruction will stop it. They both know this.

His covered eyes rest on Alphinaud sleeping form again.

“It’s nice, I guess. A nice dream of peace.” He confesses lowly. “But dreams have no bearing in the real world and that’s where we live.”


	19. Where the heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's an unlooked but long sought reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU set in some nebulous future where things turned out ok and they have nice and calm meetups to eat, drink, gossip and just relax from their very demanding responsibilities.   
> Some vague **spoilers** for everything SHB.

They hear the sound of laughter before anything else, before even reaching the door. It’s a joyful and familiar sound, one she’s had the chance to hear a lot in the past years. Not so her companion, who stiffens at her side and sways on her feet, torn between the desire to run towards the sound and stay away from it, afraid to reach in case reality proves itself naught but a dream.

The longing, hope and petrifying fear are plain on her friend’s face, in the quiver of her long ears, the widening of her eyes. X’lial is intimately aware of how that particular cocktail of emotions feels, heady with a strong side of too nauseous to function.

X’lial reaches, slow enough that her high-strung companion can avoid it if she wants, and grabs Lyna’s hand in a strong hold, trying to convey her own feelings of reassurance and safety with her eyes and the relaxed slant of her ears alone. 

“Nervous?” She quips, teasing smile on her lips. 

Lyna snorts and marvels a bit at the ease in which the Warrior smiles now. “Terrified,” she admits, but the nervous edge bleeds out a little bit the longer they wait and nothing changes. She can still hear the muffled sound of amiable conversation, the random bursts of laughter and playful bantering.

“Don’t,” X’lial says and squeezes her hand before letting go altogether, leaving her strangely bereft. “He. Loves you. Misses. You.”

Lyna knows this, she knows this very well. But well, it has been years and she had been prepared to never see him again, to live with the knowledge that he was alive but that they’d never hold another conversation late at night, cups of hot chocolate in hand. They had been able to send letters to each other, thanks to X’lial and, occasionally, Feo Ul, but that was a cold comfort. So this? This feels much like her dreams turned nightmares, where she stands staring at the closed doors of the Tower that had been a home to her, now forever out of reach.

Except it’s within her reach right now and she’s being a coward. It’s unacceptable.

Lyna closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, steeling her resolve. She looks towards X’lial only to find her looking back, her ears twitch sheepishly at being caught staring but the smile remains firm. She gestures towards the door and Lyna nods.

They enter together and X’lial can see the double take and moment where the greetings die in everybody’s throats as they take in her companion.

Thancred is the first to recover, naturally. “Well! This certainly is a surprise that deserves celebration!” He exclaims, honestly delighted. “So this was your super-extra-secret-project that none of us were invited to!” He reproaches, sternness immediately destroyed by the genuinely happy smile on his face.

He knows exactly what this means, that they have the means to, at the very least, visit those friends and family they had to leave behind. To visit Ryne, maybe to have her visit the Source too, as she confessed she’d like to do, if given the chance. A pipe dream, he couldn’t help but think. _‘Maybe not so impossible, after all.’_

Thancred’s greeting is like throwing a fox in the chicken coop, everything immediately explodes into chaos.

Only one person doesn’t move, frozen in place, staring unblinking at the white haired viis in their midst, as if afraid she’ll disappear if he does. He has to blink anyway, once the tears block his vision. He has to blink because he can’t see and he _needs to see._ Blindly he stumbles forwards.

“Lyna?” G’raha croaks, voice not working.

“Hello, grandfather,” she greets with tears falling down her cheeks. She wastes not a single moment and engulfs her young grandfather in a hug that she hopes conveys how much she missed him, how much she loves him, her savior turned family. “I have… I missed you.”

“Oh, Lyna…” is what he says. Everything else gets buried in Lyna’s coat as they cry in each other’s arm. 

Quietly the rest of the scions move away and resume their own conversations, not ignoring the pair, but giving them space to reunite and recollect themselves.

“Well, this certainly is a surprise,” comments Y’shtola, appearing out of nowhere at X’lial’s elbow.

X’lial fairly jumps a fulm into the air and glares at her unrepentant friend. “It’s. New.”

“Mmm. And it works both ways I presume.”

X’lial nods and directs a wry look to her friend. “Talk to. Cid.” Not even a little regretful of throwing the inventor under the bus. Cid is a sweetheart and won’t say no, and Nero, who lately is always right next to Cid, deserves a bit of a scare to keep him humble.

Y’shtola smiles, and there’s a hint of teeth there. “Gladly.” Her smiles gentles then. “I’m glad you both made it.”

X’lial bumps shoulders with Y’shtola, tail reaching and twinning with the other’s. “Always.”


	20. Foibles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. a minor flaw or shortcoming in character or behavior : WEAKNESS
> 
> In which we talk to our(other)selves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW:** spoilers up to 70 DRK. Set in SHB 5.0.

_'... you'll have to learn to bite your tongue, our friend here has many foibles: a do-gooder nature, a propensity to stick her nose where it doesn't belong, a complete inability to say no, compassion…'_

From her perch, X'lial makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat and sways dangerously over the precipice, but she doesn’t fall. She has never fallen unless she was pushed, the preternatural senses and anatomy of all miqo’te making it easy to perch on tall and dangerous places. The fur on her tail settles as she recovers her equilibrium.

_'_ _Many would say the last one is a virtue_ _'_ she shoots back, amusement and fond exasperation bleeding into their shared mindspace. 

She doesn’t exactly have a visual of them, however any of this it’s not like that, but as long as she has the Dark Knight soulstone equipped she can feel them, Fray especially, but she’s pretty sure the small fidgeting presence in the metaphorical back is Myste. 

_'It's **not** when you let it drag you through hell and back by the tail.'_ Fray retorts hotly, instantly, but without true anger. 

It's a well-worn argument by now, one that they revisit often; in particular, when she comes to a new place full of people with many chores and errands to foist on some poor sod. That sod being her, usually. And nowhere is newer than this whole new world they were summoned into. 

She lets her bleeding heart guide her; Fray, if he's awake, spits vitriol about the laziness and entitlement of some people, thinking they can order them around, just because the word NO is a foreign concept… 

_'The Exarch didn't exactly order us to do anything,'_ she points out, just to be contrary.

Fray growls, true anger and indignation on her behalf bleeding through. _'It's not like he needs to! He has five levers he can use to apply pressure whenever he feels like we aren't working fast enough!'_

_'He… didn't seem that bad. He wants to help his people,'_ Myste pipes up timidly. Of course that’s what they’d focus on.

X'lial frowns, deep in thought. _'That's what he **says**.'_ She thinks of the few interactions she's had with the man. _'I don't believe he's lying exactly-'_ Fray snorts something that sounds suspiciously like _“naive idiot”_ , which she ignores, _'but he hasn't been entirely honest and… there's something about him. He's familiar, somehow. I feel like I should know him, like the answer is right in front of me, but it’s… there’s no way.'_

There's silence as they all consider that thought and pick it apart. They look up at the Crystal Tower, majestic and painfully familiar, and at its feet a thriving city, bustling and full of life, life only possible because of its mysterious benefactor and leader. Who controls the Tower. A feat that should only be possible for one person and one person only. 

She clenches her gauntleted fists, white tipped ears swiveling back in distress. There’s a question and an answer and she may have both, or she may not. She does have the means to find out, the Tower is right there, all she’d need to do is reach out and touch and she’ll know. She’ll also be brain dead from overload.

_'Well, fuck, that's just peachy.'_


	21. Shuffle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v. to move your feet or bottom around, while staying in the same place, especially because you are uncomfortable, nervous, or embarrassed.
> 
> In which X'lial and Minfilia have a chat. (They are friends. I don't make the rules ~~except when i do~~ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in ARR, some months after the WOL joins forces with the Scions.

Vesper Bay is a hive of activity, as per usual, one X’lial ignores.

She reaches the Walking Sands’ entrance and let’s herself in, resisting the urge to knock like some stranger, and waves half-heartedly to the lalafell receptionist, who returns the salute with at least ten times more enthusiasm. Right. As she reaches the branch in the hallways, her ears flicker in the direction of the Common Room slash Cafeteria, easily picking up the roar of many conversations going on at once, the sound barely dulled by the barrier of wood.

Thankfully the corridors aren’t overtly crowded or her fur would be standing on end even more than it already is. X’lial is self-aware enough to know that she’s gone more than a little feral in the two, almost three, years she roamed the countryside and little backwater towns of the mainland, from the Black Shroud to Thanalan. Finally venturing into Ul’dah had been excruciating. At least in Vesper Bay there’re many nooks and crannies one can use to hide in.

X’lial nods in the general direction of the guard stationed outside the Solar, receiving a nod and a smile in return, so either he recognizes her or Minfilia let him know she is expected. Probably the latter, to be honest.

She shuffles nervously in front of the door and compulsively checks and rechecks that her gloves have no holes in them (they don’t). She steels herself, takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and, finally, she pushes the door open.

The silence inside the Solar is most welcome and X’lial finds herself relaxing almost against her will. Her ears flicker back and forth, but she hears nothing save for her own steps and the sound of Minfilia’s writing and breathing. Tension she wasn’t aware she had accumulated bleeds off her frame and her tail resumes a lazier swaying.

Having heard the door, Minfilia puts the pen down and goes around the desk, where she waits, hands clasped in front of herself.

“X’lial! Full glad I am to see you!” Her smile is warm and so genuinely happy to see her that X’lial has to resist the urge to look behind herself for the true recipient of such sentiments.

She nods instead. “Antecedent.”

“It’s Minfilia,” she corrects, not for the first time and probably not for the last.

She’s a weird one, Minfilia, and the same can be said of their relationship, in X’lial’s humble and inexperienced opinion. Hard to be anything but weird when that inconvenient Echo thing decided it’d be nice and dandy to throw them into each other’s head at first contact. X’lial knows a great deal about Minfilia now, more than anyone barring her closest friends and dead mentor. The opposite is also true and even know, months later, X’lial is still grasping with her feelings over the violation of having her life on display, if only to one person.

Minfilia had been greatly understanding when X’lial bolted out of the door before the meeting concluded and didn’t reappear for a week, and when she made only sporadic reports to her elbow for the remainder of that first month. But there’s only so much awkwardness X’lial could tolerate, so it was almost inevitable she ended gravitating towards this woman she knows so much about and yet doesn’t know at all.

They are friends, she thinks, as she follows her leader to one of the benches positioned against the stone walls, where they sit side by side. It’s hard to judge such things on nonexistent experience.

In some weird stroke of fate, all the girls in her tribe had either been much older or much younger, the only one her age had been her twin brother. He had been… _is_ her best friend. Her only friend. And after Dalamud… well, it’s quite hard to make friends when half your words die in your mouth and the rest turn incomprehensible if you speak them out loud, made harder by never staying in one place for long.

It’s nice, if strange, to add another name to the list.

Minfilia fidgets with her hands for a moment, expression pensive, before apparently reaching some conclusion.

“I didn’t call you here to discuss business…” she pauses for a second, reconsiders. “Not Scion business at any rate.”

The silence stretches again and X’lial can practically see the frustration grow ever higher in the sky-blue eyes of her friend. Tentatively, she rests a hand on Minfilia’s closed fists, pats her once and tries to smile reassuringly. She isn’t sure how well it comes out, but at least some tension bleeds off Minfilia’s shoulders and the smile returns to her fair features.

“It’s… a delicate topic and I– I don’t know how to say it.” She exhales. “I’m afraid you’ll be mad at me.”

There’s only two topics that X’lial considers off limits and Minfilia had assured her, as soon as she came back from her Echo related freak out, that she has all the freedom she wants to keep up with her search for Liam. That leaves off her other… difficulties.

She can’t help the way her hackles rise up and her ears fall flat against her skull. This is most definitely not a topic she’s fond of. Minfilia obviously sees this if her wry smile is any indication.

“I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but I like to think we’re friends… and I have a suggestion that may help, if… if help is something you wish for.”

X’lial gives the other woman an unamused look. “Fix.”

“No! It’s not a fix! You’re not a broken vase we can glue together again and call it good, I _know_ that. But–” Minfilia looks away, unshed tears shine in her eyes. “I know how hard it can get,” she says, referencing that blasted echo vision. “Obviously nothing like what it really is _like_ , but I think I got the gist of it and…” Minfilia locks eyes with her, determination and compassion burning in their depths. “I don’t want to _fix_ you, because there’s nothing _to_ fix, but I’d like to help, to make it easier to live with. _If_ that’s something you want.”

X’lial holds her gaze for a moment before looking away. It’s not that she hadn’t thought about it, how could she not? When she spent almost an entire year bedridden, waiting for broken and shattered bones to mend, for wounds to close, burns to heal and nerves to stop firing up in pain with every breath every single second of the day. And then she waited longer, relearning how to use a body that was alike that of a newborn in strength as well as familiarity. In the end, with time and patience, her body got better and stronger, leaving behind the scars as testament to what had happened.

But not everything healed. Her speech didn’t return. Not whole. She’s lucky to have improved this much, that she knows from the accounts of those that took care of her catatonic self those first months. She had been like a broken Orchestrion Scroll, repeating back words listlessly, forgetting things as soon as they disappeared from sight, getting lost inside the wreck of her head for days on end. Or so she was told.

X’lial doesn’t really remember those days beyond a distant fog of exhaustion with the occasional flash of frustration and deep-seated terror she can only assume were moments when she was lucid but trapped in the cage her body had become.

She prefers to not dwell on that time. 

And she _wants_. Of course she wants to recover her voice but. There’s always a ‘but’.

The encampment that hosted her while she recovered didn’t have the means to keep her longer than they did, or the expertise to help her. She didn’t have anything, not money nor resources to pay for a direct trip to the Conjurer’s Guild, much less pay _them_ for any kind of treatment, if such a thing existed. All she had were borrowed clothes, a pair of worn cesti and an abyss in place of her heart that she had filled with rage, hatred and unending determination to find her missing family.

With an objective in mind, she had buried that kernel of hope and left, just another ‘adventurer’ on the road to fame or whatever.

But hope was a weed more persistent than any other it seems.

“Possible?” X’lial asks, quietly, still not looking at Minfilia.

“I won’t lie, I don’t know if it’s possible, but the Conjurer’s Guild specialize in the healing arts, if anyone knows of a treatment, or a kind of therapy for the mind, it’d be them.”

X’lial nods absently and looks at Minfilia in the eye. “Money?” Because nobody did anything for free, that’s just the way the world worked. Money, goods or ability, you always had to pay with something for services rendered. ~~She doesn’t think of those do-gooders that scrapped a ruin of a miqo’te from the aftermath of Dalamud for no other reason than they could, doesn’t think of how they helped, how they provided all she needed and more. Doesn’t think of kindness and support. Doesn’t think how she left without even a goodbye.~~

“X’lial,” Minfilia calls and her attention returns to the present, “you’re one of us now. I know it hasn’t been that long, so it may sound unbelievable, but you _are_ part of the Scions and we take care of our own,” she says with conviction burning in her eyes. “What we lack in gold we have in connections. It’s no trouble to make contact with the Conjurer’s Guild, to investigate this matter and move forwards if that’s your desire.”

For the first time Minfilia breaks character and impulsively grabs one of X’lial’s hands, which makes the miqo’te stiffen, tail lashing about in the air with agitation. Noticing this, Minfilia lets go but doesn’t retreat.

“It’s not a requirement nor an order. You may seek their aid or not, but you _can_ and I need you to know that,” she says, full of quiet stubbornness, before quietly adding, “just… keep it mind, yes?”

Almost mechanically, X’lial nods. Mind whirling with thoughts and chest tight with too many feelings. “T-t-thank…” she presses her lips together, cutting off any other words that may want to escape.

Minfilia smile is like the first rays of dawn, gentle and bright.


	22. Beam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> v. to smile radiantly or happily.
> 
> Some rando: oh hey, when it's ryne bday??  
> Ryne: oh! I don't have one!  
> Thancred, juggling the worst and best father trophies: ...let me get you back on that.  
> Urianger in the back, who has given ryne gifts every year this day but never said why, just assumed they were on the same page: ...oh. oh dear.  
> Everybody else: ...well, now everything makes more sense.
> 
> OR, the one in which there's a birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Set in SHB, vague spoilers until SHB 5.2

"There you are!" Alisae exclaims, having finally found her quarry in the amaro pens. "I have been looking everywhere for you two!"

Gaia crosses her arms and directs an unamused look to the elf. She's standing outside the pens, whereas Ryne is happily attending to a young and excitable amaro inside. "You told me to distract her," she points to the other Oracle, as distracted as could be, quietly emphasizing her point. 

Alisae shakes her head but she's smiling and trying very hard to seem stern.

"Ryne!" The girl startles and whirls around in surprise, she gives one last scratch to the amaro before heeding Alisae's call. "Come on you two, you're the only one missing!" 

"Missing? Was there a meeting?" Ryne asks nervously, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeves. "I apologize for making you come looking for me."

Alisae waves a hand dismissively, even as she power walks in the direction of the Pendants. Ryne follows quickly while Gaia meanders at her own rhythm, it’s not like the Inn was going to disappear.

"It's a last minute kinda thing. None of us expected it, because Thancred didn’t say anything ‘till last minute and then X'lial got that glint in her eyes, you know the one?" Ryne nods vehemently, oh yes, she knows the one. "Right. So, a meeting. And Alphinaud decided it's my job to round up everyone." In a whisper she adds, "and when I get my hands on him I'll make him regret it. Errand girl, am I? I’ll teach him what this errand girl can do."

They continued in silence, Ryne slightly confused as to why they were going into the Inn instead of the Ocular, as usual, but too wary of Alisae to question it. It not that she doesn’t like Alisae. They simply don’t know each other and the slightly older girl is very intense and focused. It’s quite intimidating, in Ryne’s opinion, and she hasn’t worked up the nerve to initiate a conversation.

As they enter they get waved inside by the Manager of Suites and her confusion only grows.

"Isn't X'lial's room this way?"

Alisae shrugs ahead of them. "They are big enough," is all she says, which explains precisely nothing. 

And then they're in front of the correct door and Alisae is banging on them. "We're here!" She warns and without preamble pushes the door open, making a beeline for her brother, who immediately takes shelter behind X’lial’s figure. 

Considering how weird their escort had behaved, Ryne isn’t sure what to expect when they enter behind Alisae. To see the Scions, the Exarch and Lyna all in casual (well, more casual than the usual armor at any rate) clothes, standing together and simply chatting, is not it. The smiles and the by turns sort, firm and raucous Happy Birthday Ryne coming from all of them is definitely not it.

She doesn’t _have_ a birthday.

Then Thancred is kneeling in front of her, his big warm hands pressing on her shoulders like the world best blanket. He looks serious and chagrined. 

“Everyone should have a birthday, I should have made it clear sooner and for that I can only apologize,” he squeezes her shoulders and looks her in the eyes, something he started doing only recently and which Ryne appreciates and secretly treasures, because he’s seeing _her_. “Do you know what day is today?”

She wracks her memory for what is special about today but she can’t for the life of her remember. For the majority of her life individual days held no meaning, they all blended into each other. Now each day was precious to her, not one more important than the last. Keeping track never occurred to her. She shakes her head. 

Thancred nods slightly, as if he expected that answer. “Today I rescued a lovely, lonely little girl from a cell where she had spent most of her life unjustly locked up,” Ryne eyes widen and her breath hitches. Because he remembers. He remembers. “As far as birthdays go, it seemed appropriate, what do you think Ryne?” 

She nods almost desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks silently. “Y-yes. Yes!” 

“Then Happy Birthday, Ryne. May you enjoy many more,” he intones solemnly before winking at her. 

She giggles through the tears and beams at him and at everybody else too. She’s so happy she can’t stop smiling all evening, even when her cheeks start straining, she simply can’t stop.


	23. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> n. A feeling that one would like to have or do something or to see something happen; a desire, longing, or strong inclination for a specific thing.
> 
> In which there's a meteor shower and wishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW:** Vague SHB spoilers up to 5.3 (the WOL thing, it's the WOL thing)

“Look, Liam, look! Shooting stars!” X’lial exclaims, ears turned up and tufty tail waving like crazy. She tugs on her brother’s hand so that he doesn’t miss it, but he’s already looking up, gold and silver eyes wide in the same wonderment she feels. “We hafta make a wish!”

Liam is nodding even as she says that.

She looks back to the sky, where the stars are still falling. Wow, that’s a lot of starts! Where are they going? She wonders. Maybe they’re visiting friends? Do stars have friends?

“Are they visitin’ their friends, you think?” She asks out loud because if anyone knows it’s sure her brother, who already can read really well and knows lots of things. Not that she can’t read! Just… not that well.

X’liam nods. “Like X’rin.”

X’rin is X’lial’s favorite sister, funny and strong and also an adventurer, so she has many friends and is always going away to visit them. It makes them a bit sad that she’s away so often but she always brings sweets and pretty things and even a book for Liam once, which made him smile for days, so X’lial forgives her.

They watch in silence as more stars fall until they stop. One of her ears twitches in the forest direction. She thought she heard something, maybe a voice…

X’liam shifts next to her, ears also twitching like mad. He’s frowning.

“What did’ya wish?” She asks, pulling on their joined hands, which has the effect of distracting Liam from whatever thought snagged his attention. 

He’s always getting lost inside his head, but that’s alright, she’ll always be there to pull him out. Still, wishes! She immediately forgets all about any weird voices in favor of more important matters. She’s sure she made the best wish.

“It’s a secret! If you tell the wish doesn’t come true!”

X’lial scrunches her nose and her tail lashes in annoyance. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s the rules,” Liam corrects snottily, which is an obvious invitation to pounce and beat it out of him. An invitation that X’lial takes gleefully.

“The rules are stupid then!”

“No, they’re not!” He retorts and rolls them over.

“Yes, they are!” 

And roll over.

They continue roughhousing and yelling nonsense at each other until their frazzled mother comes find them and drags them by the ears inside the tribe walls again. Because they aren’t supposed to be out. Oops. 


End file.
